


Idle Work

by yeaka



Category: Murdoch Mysteries
Genre: Anal Beads, Blow Jobs, Cock Cages, Cock Warming, Dom/sub, Dominance, Established Relationship, Ficlet, Light Bondage, M/M, Oral Sex, PWP, Rimming, Sex Toys, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2014-10-17
Packaged: 2018-02-15 15:44:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2234511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Henry's recently been sucked into Mr. Pendrick's world, which Detective Murdoch so happens to be involved in too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Henry (cock warming)

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is 100% not-historically-accurate useless porn. Special thanks to abbeyjewel for betaing for me. ♥
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Murdoch Mysteries or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

At one point, Henry almost falls asleep.

Part of it is strangely comfortable. Even though he’s completely naked from head to toe—he doesn’t count the harness as clothing—he’s warm. The fire goes steadily on, and he’s close enough that he can almost feel the dancing flames licking over his back. The carpet beneath his knees and ass is thick and pleasantly soft. Mr. Pendrick’s legs, spread to either side of him, produce their own body heat, and through their pants, they warm Henry’s sides and a bit of his front. He’s sitting on his knees with his legs folded under him, and though they’re also nearly asleep, he can shift them whenever the pins and needles become unbearable.

It’s his hands that can’t move. His arms are vaguely uncomfortable, folded behind his back, his wrists firmly bound to his ankles. The leather straps are wrapped and interlaced in too many patterns and places for Henry to fully remember how it looks, and he can’t articulate the feeling well enough to get an idea. The front is easier; it wraps around his neck like a collar and loops down his shoulders, cutting across his chest in two places; just below and just above his nipples. It makes him feel strange, vaguely like his breasts are being put on display, even though he doesn’t really have _breasts_ , not like he thinks a woman would. Before he really got into his cousin’s perversions, he would’ve assumed Mr. Pendrick had this harness built for a woman.

But he is neck-deep in said perversions, and he knows better. The harness isn’t even the end of it. His arms are stiff and sore, but his jaw is what’s really aching. He’s had it firmly stretched open for so long that he’s not even sure he could close it when ordered. At first, he was so tense with _not_ closing that he’s sure his own stupidity wore him out twice as fast as need be. Now he’s so deep into the dull pain that he almost doesn’t feel it. He leans his cheek on Mr. Pendrick’s thigh and sighs through his nose.

Mr. Pendrick’s hand drops to his head, and long fingers thread back through his hair, petting him like a dog. Henry just barely restrains himself from preening under the attention; it wakes him back up. Mr. Pendrick is lounging in his armchair by the fire, intently reading a book held in the other hand, while his cock is kept warm by Henry’s mouth. It took a bit of ‘training,’ as Mr. Pendrick called it, to get used to the idea, and to learn to not move, resist sucking like he wants to, licking and blowing. Henry was so eager to please when the handsome millionaire first invited him over to ‘play.’ But now Henry’s learning to give a new kind of pleasure, and Mr. Pendrick seems to enjoy his total submission.

Mr. Pendrick is still petting him, and Henry’s still fighting back a moan around the semi-hard cock in his mouth, when he hears a strange noise in the distance. Something that’s not the fire or a book page flipping. He looks up at Mr. Pendrick, whose eyes are still on his novel. Then Henry hears more and recognizes it: footsteps.

He makes a whine of protest. His mouthful of thick cock muffles it. He has no idea who would come in without being let in, and as far as Henry knows, there’s no housekeeper today, but it doesn’t matter; whoever it is, Henry didn’t bank on witnesses. Mr. Pendrick’s face doesn’t look in the least bit worried, but then, he’s had nothing but utter control from the second this started.

The footsteps reach the doorway, and Henry picks up a figure in the corner of his eye. He doesn’t want to look over. He can’t turn his head anyway. The arm of the couch obscures most of his view. He shuts his eyes, mortified, tensed up again and subconsciously shifting his legs together. This can’t seriously be happening. The footsteps stop abruptly. It’s all been the span of a few seconds.

Henry has no willpower. He opens his eyes. More footsteps; the figure hurries closer, appearing over the edge of the armchair, so Henry gets a full view and—

“Higgins?” Detective Murdoch stops dead, shock all over his face. Henry makes a noise of protest and tries to jerk his way off of Mr. Pendrick’s dick, but the hand in his hair closes into a fist and forces him back down. Henry’s face is buried even deeper, his chin digging into the rough fabric of Mr. Pendrick’s pants and his nose ground into dark pubic hair. He wants to gag but fights his reflex, fights everything; he isn’t supposed to move; he’s supposed to be a good boy and sit still like an obedient receptacle: no more than a tool, a piece of furniture. But getting caught, especially by a detective, _the detective_ , is a _problem_.

His only consolation is that Detective Murdoch looks just as surprised. His cheeks have turned a faint pink, but then, Henry always thought of the detective as a very conservative man. Detective Murdoch looks at Mr. Pendrick and nearly hisses, “James, what are you doing?”

“Calm down, William,” Mr. Pendrick sighs, like Detective Murdoch’s reaction is completely out of line. He casually closes his book and balances it delicately on Henry’s head: another surprise for Henry to handle. Naturally, he tries to be a good footstool or coffee table or whatever his master wants him to be, and he does his best to keep his skull still and balance the book. “He’s perfectly willing.”

It’s true. Henry still expects Detective Murdoch to be outraged, but to Henry’s surprise, he says instead, “You should have discussed this with me.”

Mr. Pendrick snorts. “You never would’ve wanted to risk involving someone else. But I assure you, I’ve ascertained his discretion, and this will be most helpful to us.”

“And how is that?” Detective Murdoch sounds skeptical, but not nearly as much as he should be.

“To demonstrate with, of course.” Mr. Pendrick pauses while Detective Murdoch continues to appear surprised, and Henry struggles to accept the notion that Mr. Pendrick is using him to demonstrate to the detective how to warm a man’s cock. He must’ve misunderstood. He wishes he could turn his head to really study Detective Murdoch’s reaction—he isn’t going to lose his job over this, is he?—but he can’t tilt his head even slightly for fear of dropping the book. Thankfully, Mr. Pendrick goes on to clear things up for him. “Look, William, I know you’re trying. But it’s clear to me that you don’t have the assertiveness to train our pet properly. And it’s equally as clear that George needs a firm hand—” _George_. It has to be George Crabtree; everyone else involved in this mess, Henry seems to know, and even if it isn’t, his mind _wants_ to picture his George, so he does. “—But you know I have no desire to dominate you—”

“Nor would I let you,” Detective Murdoch interjects, “But you can’t expect everyone to slip into this... this...”

“Kink,” Mr. Pendrick provides.

“... _Alternative lifestyle_ as easily as you.”

“Nevertheless, as cute as George is, and as happy as I am to have him at our feet, it’s clear that he can’t even do something as simple as warm cock without getting over eager and sucking and trying to please. And that’s partially your fault for not disciplining him.”

“So you replaced him,” Detective Murdoch says dryly. Mr. Pendrick rolls his eyes and waves a hand.

“No, no, don’t be obtuse. I just brought in another pet for demonstration purposes. This way George can benefit from observing Henry, you can benefit from observing me, and we can all have a good time in the process.” Almost as an afterthought, Mr. Pendrick removes the book from Henry’s head—making Henry nearly sigh in relief—and resumes absently petting him. Henry melts into the touch, needing the reassurance. This is all very... horrifying.

But he doesn’t dare move. Not even to rub himself against the carpet, which he tried to do earlier before being swatted and told not to; oddly, he’s getting hard again. He shouldn’t get hard from having his boss discover his sin. ...But he is. And honestly, at this point, he isn’t even surprised with himself. 

Detective Murdoch seems to have been mulling this over. He’s respectfully quiet, like usual, and his handsome face has become a difficult-to-read mask. Mr. Pendrick returns to trying to convince him. “I’m telling you it will be good for all of us. Henry’s proven very trainable. He’s gotten the hang of it extremely quickly, and he doesn’t squirm in his harness like George does—don’t look at me like that, I’m not suggesting we discard George—and look how pretty he is.” Smirking, Mr. Pendrick gestures vaguely towards Henry’s face, and Henry glows with pride.

Detective Murdoch leans to the side and comments with a note of excitement that he only ever gets with new inventions, “I see. Another of your designs? I don’t believe I’ve seen this one yet.”

“Finished it this morning. We can put it on George when he gets here; I rather think seeing Henry wear it so well will make him try harder at behaving.”

Detective Murdoch sighs. “He is _trying_ to behave, James.” Then his gaze finally returns to Henry, and Henry, suddenly beet red and nervous as hell, averts his eyes to Mr. Pendrick’s stomach. He can still feel Detective Murdoch looking at him, and it makes his neck hot and his mind acutely aware of his nakedness. It was easier when the detective ignored him in favour of Mr. Pendrick. “...But really, did you have to go to the stationhouse?”

Mr. Pendrick chuckles. “Actually, I went to see you, but I couldn’t mistake the way he was eyeing me.” Henry shuts his eyes; he was _not_ eyeing Mr. Pendrick. He was just... curious. And now he knows why George had suddenly stood up straighter and turned a sharp pink and buckled under every request. George...

Work tomorrow is going to be... interesting. If he doesn’t see George here tonight. Thinking of George like this, sitting between Detective Murdoch’s legs in the other armchair, makes Henry desperately want to rut into the carpet again. He’s always thought George unbearably cute, sweet and adorable and way too fuckable, but he never thought George would have this kind of inclination. He’s so wrapped up in stopping himself from eagerly sucking his master’s cock to the thought of _George Crabtree_ naked and harnessed and kneeling at a man’s feet that he barely notices when Detective Murdoch leaves. Hopefully to fetch George.

Henry’s left alone in the room with Mr. Pendrick again. He looks up and wriggles his hips, but doesn’t hump the air or the floor and somehow manages to keep his tongue still.

Mr. Pendrick pets back his hair and purrs, “Good boy. You handled that very well, Henry. If you can keep it up long enough to show your friend how it’s done, I might even let you hump my leg and come.” Henry positively glows, sure that he’s going to burst any minute from that praise alone.

Then he thinks of Detective Murdoch telling him he’s a good boy, telling George that he’s naughty, and his fists clench in their bindings. He’s going to be the best cock-warmer _ever_ , and he’s going to make his master—and all his master’s other toys—proud.


	2. James (cock warming)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't a second chapter per se, so much as just another random ficlet, because Ao3 needs more kinky Murdoch porn. Or at least, I do.

He finishes his novel in a rather unsatisfying climax—predictable, but that’s a common predicament when your IQ is far higher than the average author’s—but he can tell that neither George nor William have quite gotten the hang of it, so he decides to migrate back to the paper. He places his book down on Henry’s skull, and Henry, blinking cutely, summons his face into a stern, determined look. His mouth is still open wide around James’ cock, his naked body nestled between James’ spread legs. This is the third time Henry’s played James’ cock-warmer, and he’s every bit as good at it now as he was the first time.

James decides to be benevolent and offer him a break. “Go fetch the paper, Henry.” He notices William, seated in the armchair next to his with George between his legs, glancing over. Henry has been at it longer than George—a case kept William and his trusty sidekick late again—but he’s maintaining far better control. He slowly makes his way off James’ half-hard cock, the book delicately balanced on his head. The harness wrapped around his torso, that James sometimes attaches to a leash or the headboard or wherever he wants to see Henry rendered powerless, isn’t binding his arms today. When he’s free of James’ dick, he moves to all fours, mouth still hanging open and dribbling saliva down his chin. He lifts a curled hand as though to wipe it away, but the book wobbles, and he quickly puts his hand down again. Then he shuffles around to the table between the two armchairs, while James watches and enjoys the shifting of his naked ass. William’s also watching. George probably would be too, if his vision weren’t thoroughly blocked by William’s thighs and the armrest. Henry carefully tips the book onto the table, and it slides down.

He takes a second to wipe off his wet lips. It looks rather like a dog licking his paws. When he’s done, Henry lifts up on his knees, and he reaches across the table, grabbing the newspaper in his teeth. James helpfully picks up the single cup—one he and William were sharing—just water, as William’s decidedly too conservative. With alcohol, anyway. James has managed to coax him out of the sexual shell. With the path clear, Henry pulls the paper off the table and pads back around to James on all fours, dropping the newspaper in his lap. James picks it up and affectionately ruffles Henry’s hair, earning a large, sloppy smile. But Henry’s a good boy, and he doesn’t presume to talk like George would. He just opens his mouth and slides his way back onto James’ cock. He takes it all the way to the base, letting it slide down his throat, and he’s careful not to lick or suck or even hum. He stays where he is, no livelier than any other piece of furniture, except his mouth is warm and velvety and not that far from what James imagines heaven to be like.

He fluffs the paper open. He barely gets through a sentence before William’s moan draws his attention. William leans back in his chair, skull digging into the headrest, mouth open, handsome face contorted in pleasure. Everything about James’ lover is handsome. He takes a moment to enjoy the sight; William takes so very much to come undone. The source of his pleasure is obvious. James tilts his head to get a good look, and he finds George’s eyes closed, mouth not as open as it should be, cheek bulging from the imprint of William’s cock. He’s doubtlessly squirmed and let it rub against the walls of his mouth. James sighs and shakes his head again.

“William—”

“I know,” William mumbles through grit teeth. He exhales heavily, screws his face into concentration and looks back down. George looks up, guilt all over his cute face. William just looks at him and shakes his head, always with the silent, gentle scolding that doesn’t get them anywhere.

“You should spank him,” James suggests. William’s mouth twists, and James presses, “It need not be entirely unpleasant. I can demonstrate on Henry if you like—not that he needs it. _He_ knows how to take orders properly.” Henry’s face instantly lights up, smug and adorable at once, while George’s twists into a petulant irritation. They’re both young and too competitive. But James can use that to his advantage. “You know, Henry doesn’t move at all. Doesn’t lick, doesn’t suck. He keeps his urges perfectly in check. If George can’t do the same, perhaps it’s time to repla—”

George instantly makes a noise of protest, seemingly forgetting that his mouth is too full of cock to talk. Very George, and precisely the problem. When James glances down between his legs, Henry’s looking mildly distressed, and James sighs, “But you wouldn’t want him to go, would you?” Henry’s good enough not to shake his head.

“I wouldn’t either,” William notes. James would never actually overrule him. They’re boyfriends and equals, however James might act when it comes to guiding William through new waters. But he looks at William meaningfully, and finally William sighs, “Very well, we’ll... punish him. After.”

“We?” James notes.

“We.” William repeats.

James just grins. He takes a look at the clock above the mantle and pulls his newspaper up, even though it blocks the view of Henry’s pretty face. Across from him, William scolds, “George, be still,” and George, completely missing the point, makes some sort of noise in answer. William just sighs and leans back in his chair. They still have some time left, but James doubts this will end as intended. If George gets too bad, he’ll have to stop the lesson; their pets are meant to be building interest for James and William to enjoy with each other, not their pets’ mouths. If William winds up spending himself in George’s stomach, James isn’t going to be pleased.

But then, he wouldn’t exactly mind devising a new method of punishment, so perhaps the evening can be salvaged after all...


	3. George (orgasm denial, cockcage, rim)

At first, it didn’t seem like punishment at all. He got to sit in Mr. Pendrick’s lap while Detective Murdoch stroked him, and for all his conservative appearances, Murdoch is _very_ good with his hands. George was close to the edge in no time, sure he was in his own personal heaven... and then the new invention came out.

A bit of ice got him soft again, though at the time, George couldn’t imagine why they would get him hard only to bring him back from that edge. Now he knows the unresolved build up to be part of the torture. Murdoch clasped the little cage onto George’s cock, promising him it would prove perfectly harmless. But the cold, metal ribbing lined and lines George’s dick completely, digging into skin and holding back what would’ve been a quick return to arousal. And now he can’t come, can’t even get properly hard without it hurting, no matter how turned on he is. He knows he isn’t allowed to take it off, and he’s not even sure he could figure out how. It’s not something he wants to mess with; what if he accidentally made it tighter? But his two ingenious masters aren’t around to help him, and all he can do is whine and try to stop rubbing himself against the floor like the dog they often call him.

The worst part is hearing them on the other side of the door. He’s sitting out in the hall, and he can picture easily his two masters kissing and touching one another, rolling around in bed. They seem to take turns on top, but from Mr. Pendrick’s comments about how tight Detective Murdoch is, George thinks the eccentric millionaire must be topping tonight. Picturing and hearing Mr. Pendrick buried deep in George’s prized detective and not being able to see or come to it is nothing short of torture. Knowing that Henry Higgins gets to sit at their bedside and watch and probably jerk off to it is even worse. How Henry got so good at warming cock, George has no idea, but it’s a damned hard thing to do and he really doesn’t think he can be blamed.

But that doesn’t help him now. George shifts his hips and holds himself still, even though a part of him really wants some friction. He tilts his head against the door and keeps his ear pressed to it, drinking in Detective Murdoch’s moans and Mr. Pendrick’s sighs and groans.

He’s nearly knocked to the floor when it opens a minute later. George stumbles on his elbows to catch himself, swearing under his breath. Henry slips into the hall, muttering, “Oop, sorry, George.”

“Higgins,” George seethes, reverting to surnames for dramatic effect. He knows it isn’t really Henry’s fault that he’s favoured when George isn’t, but it doesn’t make George any less irritated with him. “What are you even doing out here? Surely _you_ aren’t being punished.”

“Nope,” Henry has the nerve to say with a smile. He shuts the door, cutting off the loud string of lovemaking noises. A second passes and he catches himself, stifling the smug grin. “Sorry. They sent me out here. You’re supposed to...” He trails off and gestures vaguely at his dick, which is hard but slightly wilting, standing eye-level with George. The sight and the smell makes George’s cock twitch in its confines, which just makes him wince and look bitterly away. Henry’s cock is splattered with cum, and the fact that _he’s_ allowed to get off while George isn’t is mildly infuriating.

As George clearly isn’t going to take the hint, Henry sighs and insists, “They want you to lick me off, George.” George glares up at him, and he hastily adds, “What? It wasn’t my idea!”

“Well, how do I know that?”

“Obviously I wouldn’t lie about it—why would I go and get myself punished when they think I’m the good one?” George looks back at him just to glare, and Henry adds, looking down at George imploringly, “Besides, can you really afford to _not_ listen? You’re already in the dog house, if you’ll pardon the pun.” George’s face twists, because that’s true. He can’t afford to misbehave again.

He didn’t mean to misbehave in the first place, but keeping a cock in his mouth _without_ pleasuring it is a really difficult thing to do. Especially when that cock belongs to an incredibly handsome man that George has admired for as long as he’s worked at the stationhouse. A part of him desperately wants to pleasure Henry just because he couldn’t pleasure Detective Murdoch, but the rest of him doesn’t want to give Henry a thing. He toys with the idea for a moment before the ever-present pressure around his cock decides for him; he needs to behave to get this darned thing off.

So he opens his mouth and leans forward without explanation. Henry, grinning like an idiot, steps forward, and his semi-hard cock slaps George in the cheek. George swallows his scowl and turns to lick it, running his tongue up the length of Henry’s shaft and lapping up a line of milky cum. He wipes off the underside next, because a bit of it’s already trickled down to cling to Henry’s tight balls, which George sucks into his mouth, suckling off the sticky coating. Henry moans, but George is ignoring him, focusing on the task. He tells himself he’s just following orders, but having the stench of raw man in his nose is something he’s missed, stuck out here in the hall, and he finds himself nuzzling into Henry’s crotch more than he means to. Henry’s cock is the perfect size for him. It isn’t small, but it’s not too big—can fit perfectly in George’s mouth and rest comfortably against the back of his throat—

George catches himself just in time to stop from swallowing Henry’s shaft. He wasn’t told to do that. He has to behave if he wants to come. He _really_ wants to come. He finishes licking Henry off with a disappointing efficiency and pulls back to sit on his ass before he gets tempted again.

Henry makes a contented sigh and walks around him, cock bouncing happily. The only good thing about this distraction is getting to see Henry naked. Although, given George’s predicament, maybe that’s a bad thing. When Henry gets behind him, George tries to turn, but Henry pushes his shoulder down and tells him, “Stay there. Okay, now lift your ass up.”

“What?” George looks over his shoulder, but Henry’s already grabbing his waist and hoisting him up, “Higgins, what are you—”

“Just... get on all fours, okay? I have more orders.”

Orders that better not include humping George; he couldn’t handle that. He can barely handle this. But he lets Henry get him up to all fours anyway, knees adjusting against the hardwood and bound cock swinging between his legs. At least his hands aren’t chained together. Mr. Pendrick seems to have a pension for bondage, an interest that George finds particularly frustrating. This cock-cage-contraption is so far his master’s evilest invention.

George is still craning over his shoulder, monitoring Henry, when Henry settles down to all fours behind him. George blinks at him and wonders if Henry’s going to mount him—another dog-like activity—when Henry leans forward and buries his face in George’s ass.

George yelps loud enough to drown out the erotic sounds on the other side of the wall. Henry’s warm hands are pulling apart his cheeks, and something wet and slithery laves over George’s hole. It takes him a second to realize it must be Henry’s tongue, and by then, that tongue is going in for seconds. It traces around George’s puckered entrance and presses at the center—George gasps and drops his head. It feels very... strange. But enticing. Erotic. It shouldn’t feel like that. How is that even sanitary? But then Henry sucks, and George is writhing and trying to shove his ass back into Henry’s face, moaning already.

Henry pulls his face out long enough to chuckle, “Like that, George?” He slaps George’s ass, and George is too busy blushing and hiding his face to yell at Henry. Henry squeezes both of his cheeks and goes back in for a quick swipe of his tongue all the way up George’s crack, and he nips at George’s tailbone and says, “I’m supposed to lick you until they’re done. Not a bad punishment after all, eh?” The _worst_. George has to force his hands still—he knows there’s no point touching himself, and Henry would probably tattle on him for trying. It wouldn’t get him anywhere. His cock is pulsing hard against its cage and trying to engorge, but it can’t, and it hurts in an only half-good way.

Henry dives back into George’s ass, tongue making quick work of his hole, and soon George’s entrance is clenching and twitching under the attention. Henry’s too good at this. How is Henry good at everything? Jealousy burns down George’s neck. His thighs are shaking, arms trembling. Henry alternates between licking and sucking, and George doesn’t know which is worse, which makes him harder. Or want to be harder. Then Henry’s thumbs start rubbing their way down George’s crack, tugging at George’s hole. Henry stretches it wide and laps away at it before poking the tip of his tongue inside.

George collapses. Henry’s holding his ass up, but his arms hit the floor, and he buries his face in them, biting into his own flesh to stop from screaming. He doesn’t want to give Henry the satisfaction. Henry’s tongue wriggles its way inside George’s ass and starts to thrust in and out, essentially fucking him, wet and shallow. George’s ass is nearly convulsing.

Henry only gets a few thrusts in before George tilts his face to the side and pants, “Henry, stop!” Henry pauses. George can hear him suck in a breath before ignoring George and thrusting his tongue back inside; George cuts off in a gasp. “Henry—oh! God, stop it! You’re going to make me—!” But he can’t, not really. His body _loves_ the attention, but he can’t do anything with it, and that makes it hell, makes him squirm against Henry’s face. His ass feels like it’s on fire. He falls into a litany of whines and begs, “Henry, please, stop—I can’t take it—Oh—”

Henry stops just long enough to nuzzle his stupidly pretty face into George’s ass and moan, “God, George, you’re so hot.” Then he’s sucking hard on George’s stretched, soaking hole, and George is nearly in tears.

He’s so busy whimpering and begging that he doesn’t even notice the door opening until it stops just short of hitting his face. Apparently, he moaned his way through his masters’ orgasms. He can’t even look up at them. He’s too embarrassed. He buries his red face in his arms again and tries to stop thrusting his hips wantonly up into Henry’s mouth.

Then one of his masters loops a finger into his collar, and he’s dragged into the bedroom, leaking a heavy stream of precum all over the expensive hardwood floor.


	4. George (beads, oral)

Of course he’s curious. He’s _always_ curious, and Mr. Pendrick comes up with some truly fascinating ideas, whether or not Detective Murdoch looks skeptical, which he does right now. He’s holding the absurdly long string of beads in his hand, thumb rolling one around his palm. They look a little too big to be comfortable, but then, George didn’t think handcuffs would be comfortable, and after padding them on the inside, Murdoch proved him wrong. Now George is kneeling on the floor—as he so often is these days—stripped down to nothing but his collar and cuffs.

“And what is your hang up, exactly?” Mr. Pendrick finally sighs, strolling back with a bottle of lube in his hands. He bends to place it on the floor next to George’s knees, and George can’t help glancing expectantly between it and Murdoch’s hands—lube always means something fun is coming. Mr. Pendrick straightens and slips his hands into the pockets of his pants: he always dresses so smartly. Murdoch, similarly done up in all but his hat, lifts an eyebrow.

“There’re far too many of them for his first time.”

“So put them halfway in.” Mr. Pendrick shrugs. “You know I don’t expect full results on the first test of anything. But we’re never going to figure out what is an appropriate amount for him to take if we don’t start putting them in.” It’s unspoken, but Mr. Pendrick probably means if _Murdoch_ doesn’t; he’s usually the one to apply things to George. Especially after Mr. Pendrick acquired Henry. At least George gathers from their conversation that he’s getting the beads before Henry—about time. Even if Henry is apparently better at absolute obedience, George was their first pet, and he’s the one that’s really eager for it, that’s experimental and adventurous and always looks up to them. To help urge the process along, George lowers his face down to the floor, turning his cheek against the sleek hardwood, so he can stick his ass higher in the air. Murdoch’s fingers tighten almost imperceptibly around the bead in his hand.

Mr. Pendrick makes a more aggravated sigh and gestures forward, insisting, “Look, if you don’t feel comfortable putting them in, have him do it himself.”

“You know he’s terrible at preparing himself,” Murdoch answers easily, as though George isn’t kneeling right there and perfectly capable of talking for himself—if his master would allow it. He resents the implication; he can _too_ prepare himself right. He just has a habit of getting a little... over-eager. But he’s never truly hurt himself, and if he can take both their cocks at once—which he has—surely he can take a few beads. Mr. Pendrick shakes his head and plucks the string out of Murdoch’s hand. He drops it over George’s face, and George shuts his eyes while the over-sized rubber marbles slide down his forehead. The string gets caught over his nose, and he shakes it out into his hands.

He looks up at Murdoch for permission before doing anything else, and Murdoch exhales slowly and nods. “Right then, George. Put them in.”

George bites back his smile and tries to lift back up on his hands before remembering the handcuffs. He has to settle back down, chin to the floor, and reach his arms underneath himself, searching for the lube. He’s grateful when Murdoch kneels down, picks the bottle up, and unscrews the lid. His hands disappear from sight, and a second later, the cool, familiar liquid dribbles onto George’s tailbone, slithering down between the cheeks of his ass. He can’t help gasping a quiet, “ _Sir._ ” Murdoch ignores him, as per usual, and runs a hand down through the lube, right into his crack. Three fingers rub the liquid in, one finding his hole and swirling over it, and George moans louder and thrusts his ass up into Murdoch’s hand. Even if he can prepare himself, he’d much rather have Murdoch do it.

But Murdoch only lathers him up and pulls away again, after petting a cold but comforting trail down George’s back. George is left to struggle to push the beads up. He’s careful to avoid his cock, a little hard already just from being ordered about and watched and _dominated_ , because he knows he isn’t going to be allowed to come any time soon. The lube’s already drizzled down the back of his balls, and George presses the first bead into them, knowing he’ll need it as wet as possible. The position’s very awkward to do this in, but George isn’t about to ask for mercy. He’s prepared himself in handcuffs plenty of times before. He’s been in this position enough times. It’s still embarrassing and still makes him flush, but that’s just part of the excitement.

When he finally manages to get the bead up to his hole, wedged between his cheeks and coated in the ample amount of lube there, he hesitates. He lets out a long breath, holding it in place and trying to adjust, thighs spreading and shoulders shifting. He licks his lips and steels himself, and then he starts to push, hoping the shape will make it easy to put inside.

It doesn’t. It slips wetly out of his grip and topples over his hand, the string sliding along his knuckles. George stifles a swear and has to search around for it, blushing horribly and glad, for once, that neither of his masters are prone to easy laughter.

This time he gets it in one hand and uses the other to touch his hole first, tapping and rubbing the puckered entrance until he can push one blunt nail inside. He fingers himself a bit, trying to coax and stretch himself wider, trying to think of arousing things to make him relax, like Henry sucking his cock at the stationhouse or Detective Murdoch brushing up against him to whisper that he’s a good boy. He shuts his eyes and gets so lost in fingering himself that he winds up nudged in the side with a boot, and Murdoch prods in gentle warning, “George.”

George pants, “Sorry, Sir,” and pulls his wet finger out of his hole, shifting his hand around to go for the bead instead. He still hesitates when he holds it at the brim. But when he pushes at it this time, it pops inside, and George nearly yelps in surprise. His ass swallows it right up, and the smooth, unforgiving texture is something of a shock. Nothing like a very warm, veined, _alive_ cock. He takes a second just to blink and get used to the feeling, forgetting, once again, that he’s being watched.

 

Mr. Pendrick grumbles, “This is going to take all day. You could’ve had them all in by now.”

Murdoch admonishes, “Let him get used to it. It’s his first time.”

“You’re too easy on him.”

“No, I’m simply more reasonable.”

George starts to tune them out. He knows he’s got some odd dozen beads left, and as much as he’d be perfectly content to spend all day naked at his masters’ feet, he knows they have more important things to do.

He digs the second bead, currently dangling halfway down his crack, through the slosh of lube before holding it up to his entrance. When he pushes at it, he can feel and maybe hear it knock against the first bead, and it sucks halfway in before popping back out. Whining in distress, George pushes at it harder, poking it the whole way until he can feel his hole swallow it up. Then he stops to breathe and take in the odd sensation of having hard balls inside him. He can already feel them bulging against his walls. Murdoch was probably right, as he so often is—it’s unlikely George will be able to take them all.

But George would try anything his masters told him to, so he struggles to find the third, just as Mr. Pendrick makes a frustrated noise and abruptly walks out of the room. George starts and twists to look over his shoulder, but Mr. Pendrick’s walking too fast. When he looks up at Murdoch’s face, it’s mildly amused. Murdoch seems to be focusing just on George’s rear, and that makes George blush and turn his head back to the floor.

He’s pushing in the third bead when Mr. Pendrick comes back, dragging Henry by the leash. George doesn’t even have to look to know; by now, he recognizes Mr. Pendrick’s walk and the sound of Henry crawling. He tries to keep the scowl off his face and determinedly takes the third bead—even if Henry could take more, George started, George has the string already inside, and he’s still going.

He stops, startled, when something hits his leg, and he looks over his shoulder to see Henry backing into him. It’s not a position he’s used to. He drops his hands to the floor to help push himself up to get a proper look. Mr. Pendrick places Henry behind George, ass to ass, and fishes the end of the beads off the floor. George cranes his neck to check—Henry’s ass is already slick with lube.

Mr. Pendrick stabs one finger inside to prove it, and Henry grunts, head dropping. George’s breath quickens. As much as he feels competitive with Henry, he still thoroughly enjoys seeing Henry debauched. Mr. Pendrick jabs his finger roughly in and out, keeping Henry nice and open, then shoves the bead at the end of the string inside. Henry bites off a strangled cry, and George tries to sit up to get a better look.

Mr. Pendrick shoves him back down by the hair and orders, “Right, then. Let’s see which of you can get more inside. C’mon.” George hears a slapping noise, doubtless on Henry’s ass, then has his own left cheek swatted. He swallows a yelp and reaches back between his legs, immediately aware that this is an unfair contest: Henry isn’t handcuffed.

George knows better than to say that. The urge to please takes over, and he pushes another bead inside himself, grunting and forcing the others further in. He can already feel the string draping between them instead of weighing down to the floor. When he grabs the next ball, he can feel a tug the other way. Henry doesn’t seem to be hesitating at all, not like George was, just shoving the glossy beads inside himself without a second thought. The image it paints in George’s mind makes his dick twitch, and he bites his lip and tries to keep up, taking one orb after the other.

He’s just at the point where he doesn’t think he could take any more—there’s so _many_ of them, forced deeper than even his masters’ cocks would reach—when he feels Henry’s fingers on the last bead. Henry tugs harder, and George has to relinquish, clenching his ass to keep from losing the last one he had. He can feel Henry shuffling closer, Henry’s legs open around his, and then Henry’s skin is brushing his, the curves of their asses just barely touching. George finds his hole and traces the string coming out of it, but it just leads a centimeter or two to the familiar feel of Henry’s hole, and in the handcuffs and awkward angle, George can’t quite feel it up the way he wants to.

He drops his hands and takes them back to the front, cushioning his face against the floor while he keeps his ass up and next to Henry’s. He looks up at Murdoch with a little spark of pride that only grows at Murdoch’s smile; he took quite a bit more than he thought he could.

Mr. Pendrick grins indulgently at both of them, waits a moment, then says, “Alright. Stage two.”

Murdoch looks over at him without comment. George has no idea what that means. Mr. Pendrick turns and walks off towards the desk in the corner of the bedroom. George can’t see what he’s doing, but when he comes back, he’s got a strange little device in his hands.

He kneels down between George and Henry and carefully slides his hand down the middle. George can feel two stone-like objects draping over the string, and the next thing he knows, it’s being weighed down. George gasps, satisfied when Henry does too, and he clenches his ass to stop the last bead from popping out. Mr. Pendrick chuckles and pats the small of his back, explaining, “I expect you both to keep your beads inside. You lose a single one, and you’ll be sleeping in the stables again.” George looks up at Murdoch for mercy, but Murdoch’s simply smiling at his lover.

Mr. Pendrick straightens out and turns to Murdoch. George knows he’s lost their attention. He’d complain and draw it back, but that’s another sure way to end up in the stables, and he knows from experience that’s not an empty threat. His only consolation is that Henry’s in the same position, forced to watch helplessly as their two masters turn away from them.

When Mr. Pendrick and Detective Murdoch start, it always looks so _respectable._ Aside from the fact that they’re two men, of course, but George has long gotten over that. They’re both fully dressed, both looking absolutely dashing, not a hair out of place. Mr. Pendrick slips a casual arm around Murdoch’s back, and Murdoch indulgently turns to place a quick peck on Mr. Pendrick’s cheek. Mr. Pendrick changes the angle and lands an equally chaste kiss on Murdoch’s lips. Then their bodies are moving to face one another, and Mr. Pendrick is brushing off Murdoch’s jacket, Murdoch tugging at Mr. Pendrick’s sleeves. Murdoch makes as if to fold his jacket, but Mr. Pendrick plucks it out of his hands and tosses it aside; either Henry or George will likely put it away later. Down to waistcoats, the two older men hold onto one another’s hips, pull each other close, and join for a long, languid kiss that makes George’s cock twitch.

They loosen ties next. Murdoch gracefully pulls Mr. Pendrick’s away, and Mr. Pendrick opens Murdoch’s waistcoat, working down buttons. Their shirts go too slowly for George’s tastes, but he knows he doesn’t have any say in it. They like to take their time. They divest one another of everything on top until they’re shirtless and bare and both inexplicably gorgeous. Mr. Pendrick runs his hands down Murdoch’s sides, and Murdoch wraps a hand around Mr. Pendrick’s waist, pulling him close. They rub into one another, grinding slowly between long, deliberate kisses, and George feels wholly unworthy of watching such perfect men at their most raw and beautiful.

They kick off their shoes. Their pants stay on, though Mr. Pendrick opens Murdoch’s, and the two of them fall back onto the bed, legs tangling as their hands explore and their mouths never leave one another. George sucks in a breath, unable to take it. For a moment, he loses himself, and the last bead inside him starts to slip, tugged by the weight, and he has to hurriedly clench again and try to suck it back in a good distance. It feels so, so strange, and the exertion is more than he expects. His ass bumps into Henry’s in the process, and Henry presses back into him. Before George knows what’s happening, he’s grinding his ass into Henry’s. It feels good and soft but hard beneath that—they grind together forcefully enough to bruise. When he tilts up and just the right way, he can rub the back of his balls on Henry, and a few times he’s sure Henry’s cock has swung into his. He wants to lift up on his hands and look beneath him—he could probably line them up and get better friction that way—but then he wouldn’t be able to watch the bed.

And the bed houses a glorious sight. George settles for rubbing into Henry’s ass as best he can whilst keeping his eyes fixed on his masters. Murdoch’s wound up on the bottom, sprawled out in the mattress, thankfully close enough to the edge for George to see. Mr. Pendrick, collapsed above, arches his spine and runs an open mouth along Murdoch’s neck; Murdoch’s perfect eyelashes flutter and his lips part. His strong arms wrap around Mr. Pendrick, digging into Mr. Pendrick’s shoulders. Mr. Pendrick nudges Murdoch’s head aside and whispers something in his ear that makes Murdoch smile.

George becomes abruptly aware that he’s whimpering uselessly. He can’t help it. He hasn’t been touched yet and wouldn’t dare touch himself, but he’s painfully hard from watching alone. The beads haven’t hit the right spot inside him, but they don’t have to. When he bends his arms in, he can rub his nipples, and the more he rolls his ass around Henry’s, the more the string teases his hole. With them pressed so tightly together, the weights are less of a threat; nothing’s able to fall out because there’s nowhere to go. It gets to a point where Henry’s rutting into him so hard that George has to rut back, or he’d be knocked straight over.

When Murdoch’s hands disappear into Mr. Pendrick’s pants and both of them start really moaning, George has to bite into his arm to stop his own noises. He can hear Henry panting behind him. Henry’s hips start gyrating fast enough for his cock to swing back and slap into George’s, which George knows should be silly but just makes him want to turn around and hump Henry properly. The weights aren’t even a thought. George spreads his legs wider so they rub along Henry’s: anything for more contact. He’s lost in the pleasure, and _finally_ Murdoch breathes around kisses, “We shouldn’t leave them like that.”

“We absolutely should,” Mr. Pendrick counters, chasing Murdoch’s smile down. Murdoch turns his head away, letting Mr. Pendrick bite his neck instead.

“We could at least let them have each other...”

Mr. Pendrick sighs and slumps against Murdoch: a sure sign he’s giving in. Then he twists to peck Murdoch’s cheek and murmur, “You are entirely too kind, my dear.”

“You have a strange definition of kind, James.” Mr. Pendrick laughs, and they’re pushing back up to sit. It takes every fibre of George’s being not to scramble over to them. They slip off the bed, strolling to their respective pets, and as Mr. Pendrick disappears around to Henry’s side, George’s eyes are drawn to Murdoch. His pants are unzipped and his large cock is jutting proudly into the air, red and wet around the tip. George pushes up with his hands, up on all fours.

Murdoch stops in front of him, reaches a hand under his chin, strokes him fondly and tells him, “You’ve been a good boy, George.” George thinks he really might melt. He’s about to say thank you on instinct, but Murdoch’s hard cock pushes against his open lips instead. George lifts up so Murdoch’s knees don’t have to bend. He splays his fingers along Murdoch’s thighs and opens his mouth wide enough to swallow Murdoch whole. Only an extensive amount of practice allows George to press smoothly on, take Murdoch down his throat and bury his face in Murdoch’s crotch. He has to strain to keep his ass pressed against Henry’s; it’s a safer method than remembering to clench, and he can’t afford to lose any beads now. Murdoch’s long fingers rake back through George’s hair and gently massage his scalp while he bobs his way slickly on and off.

Murdoch moans. It’s a deep, sensual sound, and George looks up to see Murdoch’s eyes close, face screwed up, not unlike when he concentrates on a case. Behind him, George can hear the slurping sounds of Henry pleasuring Mr. Pendrick. Another surge of concentration makes him want to finish Murdoch off first, and George sucks hard, adoring the sharp hitch of breath it earns him. It doesn’t take long for Murdoch’s hips to be grinding into his face, and George happily licks and hums his way through it, until Murdoch mumbles, “George, don’t swallow.”

George tries to nod, even though he’s pinned in place, and struggles to commit the command to memory. Mr. Pendrick utters a similar order, but George is too horny to focus on things not meant for his ears. He concentrates on drawing the orgasm out of his boss. Even though George’s body is already sore from kneeling, he still wants this to last as long as possible. He mewls when it’s over, when Murdoch’s hands fist in his hair, grab him close and tense. The thick cock in his mouth splatters a healthy dose of cum against the back of his throat, and he swallows that first load before he remembers to struggle back and keep the rest on his tongue. Murdoch lets him pull half off, and George lets the rest pool up in his mouth, clinging to the sides of Murdoch’s shaft and dribbling out along his lips. Murdoch pets him and groans, “Good boy...”

George is preening, even as Murdoch’s cock slips out of his mouth. He stumbles half a step forward, then gasps and quickly squeezes at the bead that almost pops out of his hole. He pushes back against Henry, hears a muffled noise of protest, and then he can hear Mr. Pendrick finishing.

George stays on all fours, scooping the cum spilling out back into his mouth with his tongue, while Mr. Pendrick and Murdoch reconvene. George is so hard that he’s worried he’s going to paint the floor without being touched, but then Murdoch’s hand is in his hair again, and he knows he hasn’t been forgotten.

George is drawn up to sit, which is awkward with the beads but easier to manage the weights with, and Henry’s made to sit next to him. They’re turned to one another, which pulls three beads out of George, all too fast and without any warning. He whines, and Henry’s making a similar noise. They’re maneuvered to sit chest-to-chest, and their legs intertwine as they’re pushed practically into each other’s laps.

Mr. Pendrick tells them, “You can finish while William and I clean up.” George doesn’t need to be told twice, though Henry’s faster. He jams his mouth against George’s in a heartbeat, Mr. Pendrick’s cum drenching his mouth and spilling into George’s. Their kiss is a messy, sloppy thing, and George doesn’t at all mind, not even when Henry ruts into him so hard that he falls onto his back, losing another bead and some of the wind out his lungs.

They set into humping and kissing and licking and touching one another while their masters disappear to the washroom, George in a dizzy sort of heaven.


	5. William (saddle-dildo)

There are several reasons why James’ new home is best set out in the country. The most prominent reason is the distinct lack of traffic: beyond the dirt road, the nearest neighbour is a half hour’s bike ride away. There are no witnesses to William casually letting himself inside, the key having long since been clipped to his own. He isn’t surprised that James isn’t there to greet him; he’s late. It’s a typical symptom of rendezvous planned on workdays, so fortunately, James isn’t likely to have waited and therefore won’t be too upset.

Given James’ latest favourite game, William half expects to find him in the sitting room, but it’s empty, much like the study and the library and the other usual places. William’s checking the bedroom when he hears the unmistakable sound of a horse’s neigh drifting in through the window. A quick check out onto the vast field behind James’ property shows him riding along the inside of the fences. William leaves his hat and jacket on the desk by the door and heads outside.

He comes to the stables just in time to catch James riding back up to the house. When he sees William, he slows to a trot, and William keeps walking, knowing when he’s being summoned. And now curious. James isn’t the only one on the horse, though the strange sight has William assuming the light in his eyes is playing tricks on him.

He reaches James half a kilometer from the stables, where James has come to a stop. He dismounts as gracefully as he does everything, landing beside William with a winning smile and every hair in place. He looks stunning in his riding gear, but then, James Pendrick looks stunning in most things.

Henry Higgins, still atop the horse, doesn’t have a stitch of clothing beyond riding boots clutching at the horses’ sides, fixed oddly to the saddle with new straps. James is careful to take the horses’ reins in his hands—someone needs to guide the horse, as Henry certainly can’t do it. His arms are bound firmly behind him in another trademark Pendrick harness, his eyes are covered in a dark blindfold, and his mouth is stretched around a dark stick not unlike a horse’s bit, the leather straps of which are bound tightly behind his head.

William takes in the sight, the arch of Henry’s straining back, the heft of his panting chest, the way his thighs tremble in the saddle, and mutters, “James, what in God’s name—”

“Just a thought I had,” James muses perfectly casually. “Hardly an invention I’ll bring to market, but it was a fun dalliance on the side.” Wrapping the reigns around his fingers, James pats the dark thoroughbred on the neck and walks around William, drawing it forward. William falls naturally in step, but for once, he doesn’t watch James.

He can’t take his eyes off Henry, who cries out around his gag, head tossing back. For a moment, William’s afraid he’s going to fall, but then he tosses his head forward again and regains balance, thighs clutching desperately to the saddle—James must’ve helped him get used to it at first. William has the urge to double-check that Henry is a willing participant, though he trusts James implicitly to have laid out all the risks and obtained consent beforehand. This particular ‘dalliance’ doesn’t look at all comfortable. It takes William a second to ask, “And this invention is, exactly...?”

“Ah,” James notes, looking over his shoulder and still walking. Each step the horse takes bounces Henry up, makes him whimper on the way and cry on the way down. He’s flushed and beaded in a glistening sheen of sweat, chest going wild with the struggle for air through his nose. “I’ve affixed one of those plastic cocks to the saddle.” William’s head snaps around, and James insists, “He’s quite well-prepared, I promise. So long as he stays on it, there’s no chance of injury.”

William opens his mouth but doesn’t have the words. He stops in his tracks, then has to rush forward to catch up. “And you took the horse for a run?”

“And a few jumps,” James says proudly, reaching back to stroke Henry’s leg. “There’s no need to worry; I was supervising the entire time.”

“He’s gagged; how were you to know if anything went wrong?”

“I would know. And you know that.” He gives William a tired look—the same one he always adopts when William pesters him or suspects him of wrongdoing. It makes William close his mouth, though he’s still swimming in doubts and a pool of sympathy. Although, once he gets past the initial shock, he supposes he can see the appeal in the idea.

He watches Henry for the rest of the short walk to the stables, and that appeal grows with each bounce of Henry’s attractive frame. Suddenly his muffled groans and his whines and panting all make sense. William supposes he is, in at least some respect, lucky; James has left his cock unbound. It’s currently an angry red and jutting up—William sincerely hopes it’s more from arousal than slapping against the saddle. 

As James tethers the horse inside, William continues to stare, and when he’s done, James makes no effort to help Henry down. Instead, he rolls up his sleeves, puts his hands on his hips and turns to ask William, “So, shall we take George for a ride?”


	6. James (competition)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A birthday present for my darling abbeyjewel ♥

It isn’t quite safe to be drawing designs; he’s in control, but not enough to keep lines completely straight and angles to the right degrees. Instead, he’s jotting down notes to commit to proper figures later—at the moment, he’s devising a locking mechanism for the back of the full-body harness he intends to complete tomorrow evening. 

For now, Henry’s bare. His torso, so often crisscrossed in tight leather straps, is nothing but smooth, pink skin, the curve of his back a clear expanse and the cheeks of his ass smattered with faint red lines—not true punishment marks, just the faded remnants of a casual paddling. Henry’s hands are held to either side of his ass, wrists wrapped in silver chains, two dozen centimeters between them and an offshoot in the middle, hooked on to the end of the plastic cock shoved firmly up his channel. 

His mouth is filled with the real thing, and James drops one hand to pet Henry’s hair in praise; he’s become an expert at cock warming. Though James often requires a live model to complete his experiments, on other days where they find themselves waiting for the two busier members of their entourage, James finds this an essential pastime. 

Henry, though contorted to James’ whim and thoroughly stuffed full of James’ instruments, seems to have no protests. He sits on the living room rug between James’ spread legs like he was born for it, and James finds himself fondly petting Henry more like a well-behaved dog than the piece of furniture he’s supposed to be emulating. 

By the time the front door opens in the back recesses of the house, James’ concentration is wearing thin. He has excellent stamina, of course, and more than enough practice. But his cock is stifling hot, and the velvet-soft walls of Henry’s mouth are simply too tempting. He’s been avoiding looking at Henry’s pretty face, lust-clouded and lax, wet lips stretched wide open, to avoid further stimulation. But now he lowers his clipboard and pen in favour of telling his willing slave, “Looks like we have company.”

Henry’s eyes flicker up to his, face lighting up and body shifting position, muscles flexing after growing stiff from stagnation. When his legs shuffle, James can hear the chain clinking against itself. Henry’s shoulders must be impossibly sore, but James will see to it that George massages them out when their other games are done. 

As William and George turn the corner and appear in the living room doorway, George is already struggling out of his uniform jacket. William, staying in his handsome suit, looks straight for James and draws into a light smile. James can see the tension from the constabulary’s latest case visibly leaking off William’s face, his shoulder slumping in relaxation, a feat that took some time. James has long since coaxed William into truly unwinding here, and William removes his hat and holds it out as he crosses the floor. George obediently takes it, darting to the hanger by the doorway. 

George is beaming like an idiot, always full of excitement to get started. He’s halfway out of his pants when William blocks the view, stopping in front of James’ chair and leaning down for a quick peck on the forehead. James tilts his head back to signal he wants more; he can’t sit up any higher without jarring Henry. 

“You got started without me, I see,” William comments lightly. A low clicking noise rings in the background; George has fetched his collar from the dresser and snapped it on. 

James holds out a hand to draw him over, drawling, “My dear William, I always start without you.” George immediately falls to his knees and crawls across the carpet, coming to a stop at the side of the chair and ducking his head. James reaches over the armrest to pet his dark hair, while William sighs and divests himself of his coat. 

William knows full well that they have other options. Options that don’t leave William at work more than half the time. Between the two of them, it wouldn’t be too difficult at all to design an entire range of bedroom gear, and while Canada might not be ready, there are plenty of places in Europe to anonymously sell such things. They could be rich enough to never leave the home; they could fit George and Henry snugly under their workbenches and tinker away with straps and chains, their cocks warm all the while. 

...But of course, William would rather gallivant around Toronto, protecting the good and locking up the bad. Perhaps it’s his way of counterbalancing the sin he spends the rest of his time in. Either way, with Henry working less hours and his own ventures succeeding enough to keep him out of a more conventional job, James isn’t going to wait every time. 

James still appreciates having William by his side when it’s possible, and he gestures at the other armchair across from the fireplace. He waits for all the good things. The yellow glow of the flames flickers across George’s newly exposed skin, painting him better than his black fabric ever did. While William moves to drag the second chair closer, James asks, “How was your day?”

“Slow,” William says with just enough disapproval to portray his boredom without seeming hungry for crime. “Even the streets all seem to be as they should.”

“Good. I don’t want to be interrupted tonight.” Or any other night. But if the phone rings with an important development, William will gather his clothes and leave, and as lovely as Henry’s talented mouth is, it’s still not quite so fulfilling as William’s embrace. Having pushed the chair up next to James’, William takes his seat, and James fully expects George to crawl over and start warming William’s cock. 

But instead, he’s busy licking at Henry’s face, and hasn’t seemed to notice William’s new location. Struck with amusement, James watches them play; Henry determinedly sticking to his duties and unable to use his hands to defend himself without pulling the dildo out of his ass. George is being similarly careful not to touch James’ cock—interrupting this would require permission—but that doesn’t stop him from kissing Henry’s cheek and nipping Henry’s jaw and licking the edges of Henry’s lips. Henry looks halfway between adoring and irritated, while George is simply eager. 

James lets them go on and turns back to William, commenting offhandedly, “You did get a chance to look over those blueprints I gave you?”

“What little there was of them.” William’s eyes are fixed on the display going on between James’ legs, but he makes no move to stop it and call George over. He rarely does interrupt others’ pleasure for his own; he’s a very gracious lover. “Did you finish it?”

“Yes. And I’d like to test it out.”

William’s lips twitch in a grin. “I wouldn’t think a cage would require testing.”

“A trial run, then. More a test for our boys than anything.” James drops a hand to first stroke back Henry’s hair, then scratch George behind the ear. “It’ll only fit one of them at a time, but I’d like to leave that one in overnight.” William lifts an eyebrow, frowning lightly, and before he voices his concern, James adds, “We’ll leave a bowl of water and put it in the study so we can hear if they absolutely need out. ...But I think they should be able to handle it.”

Sighing, which means he’s given in with an unusual lack of fight, William asks, “And the other one?” 

“Will sleep with us, of course.”

Now he’s got the constables’ attentions; George has stopped torturing Henry in favour of staring between James and William, while Henry is looking hazily up through his lashes. James gives them both a generic, illusive smile, and William clucks, “That hardly seems fair.”

“Life isn’t fair.”

“And I suppose you already have a method chosen to determine who is delegated which fate?”

“Naturally.” James waits the extra second for William to tilt his head in curiosity, and then he bends forward, five fingers clenching in Henry’s hair to hold him firmly in place. George automatically shuffles out of the way while James reaches over Henry’s back with the other hand, stretching to tug at the chain between Henry’s wrists. Henry makes a muffled cry but lifts up on his thighs, and James tugs again, until Henry has tilted his ass up enough for James to see the end of the dildo sticking out of his puckered hole. James gives the chain a short, final pull, and the dildo slides out, Henry’s body trembling around it. A trail of lube and half-dried cum leaks out with it, dribbling down between Henry’s balls.

If George weren’t around, James would stroke Henry’s cheek and tell him he’s been a very, very good boy. But he doesn’t want to show favourites and rub in with George that Henry’s already had fun today, so instead he sits back up and wordlessly pushes Henry off of him. Henry’s mouth stays stretched wide the whole way, even after James’ cock has popped out, smacking of saliva. It takes Henry a bit of work on his jaw to be able to close it, and while he does that, James half turns him and unclips the little metal fasteners that hold the ends of the chains around his wrist. Afterwards, he plucks the instrument up by a clean length of the chain and holds it out to George, who guesses correctly and tilts his head to catch it in his mouth. He holds the dildo sideways in his teeth like a bone, and James drops the chain he’s holding, pointing vaguely at the coffee table over on the side of the room. George immediately trots off, dropping the messy dildo out of his mouth and onto the polished glass. James will have one of them clean it up later. For now, he waits for George to return. 

He watches Henry gingerly try to sit on his ass, think better of it and opt to stay on his legs, then look up at James pleadingly. But James is sparing neither of them any particular favour, and he looks at William as he explains the rules of the game. “I propose a contest. A very simple one at that.”

“I should think so, considering what you intend to put them through later.” William has a tendency to say ‘you’ instead of ‘we’ when things get a tad darker than usual, though of course, they’re equally in control. James lets it slide and shares a knowing look with his lover; obviously, whichever of their pets ends up in the bed with them will have a no less strenuous time than the one left in the cage.

“I suggest we let them have at one another, since George is clearly so very eager to play with his friend and I think we both know how much Henry looks up to him—” Here, George’s lips curl cutely into that lopsided smile of his, while Henry flushes lightly and scowls at being given away. “—and whoever comes first sleeps in the cage.”

William’s eyebrows lift, and he says, “Oh. ...That is rather simple.”

“I thought you’d approve.” 

William gives him a trying look, perhaps at being associated with being simple, and James grins back. As basic as the concept might be, he knows the results will provide more depth. As much fun as it is to all play together, there’s a definite pleasure in having two attractive men fight for his approval. Add to it George’s determination to win—and bitterness at usually losing—and Henry’s natural ease and subsequent smugness with his friend, and their competitive nature often pokes out whether he flames it or not. Today, James feels both like encouraging that war and watching them together, under the mutual understanding that their orgasms are not theirs to have without permission.

George and Henry, now sitting side by side on the rug, are watching each other intently. No doubt waiting for the signal to go. James watches William, giving him the ball.

William finally sighs, “Very well then. ...Start.” And both constables lunge at one another as though a gun’s been shot before a race.

They’re fairly evenly matched in size, even in shape, but Henry’s stiff from sitting still and George is rearing to go; he tackles Henry to the floor. While Henry grunts from the impact, George sets in on kissing him fiercely, littering his face in attention and petting down his sides, reaching for his dry cock and wrapping around it. After so long without being touched, with being teased in both holes and never once allowed to get hard, being held like this is clearly too much for Henry. His eyes close and he moans deep into George’s mouth, clutching deftly to George’s shoulders. George doesn’t spare any time for triumph, just pumps Henry and holds his own hips at bay, his own cock swinging half-hard between his legs. He always gets excited from their games, but he’s resisting following through with it well. He bites at Henry’s lips and keeps Henry occupied, until Henry comes to his senses and growls, shoving up at George’s chest. 

George is knocked off onto his side, and Henry’s rolled onto him a minute later, both hands going straight for George’s cock. One wraps around the base and the other slides between George’s cheeks, down beneath his balls. James uses his boot to nudge George’s leg aside, and George automatically spreads them wider, offering up a better view. Henry, straddled over him and falling back into a furious make-out session, is keeping his ass elevated in much the same way. James has to stop himself from chuckling at their vigor, and instead he focuses on all the attractive body parts exposed to him. George and Henry both have particularly attractive asses, young and ripe and that perfect mix of taut and round. George’s hole is a true work of beauty, and watching Henry coax it open enough for one finger makes James’ lap stir. His cock’s already pulled out, but he resists touching it until Henry’s knuckle deep in George’s puckered entrance, slick with nothing more than spit. 

They’re both used to rough treatment by now, and George is pushing up on his elbows a minute later, forcing Henry to sit up, but he rides George’s lap like a horse, refusing to be knocked aside again. Their laps are a tangle of limbs furiously trying to jerk each other off, their faces a mix of determination and overwhelming lust, Henry’s lips wet and red from use and George’s face cutely screwed up in his efforts. When James glances sideways at William, he’s disappointed to find all his lover’s clothes still in place. 

William’s willpower to resist temptation is both admirable and incredibly frustrating. James pumps himself in one hand and uselessly wishes their chairs were just that little bit closer so he could undo William’s pants himself. But then, he tells himself, there will be plenty of time to touch William later on. 

For now, James watches George extricate himself from their tangle, trying to block Henry’s hands with his sides. Henry’s so intent on reaching George’s crotch that he doesn’t stop George’s mouth in time; George contorts himself around and descends on Henry’s lap, tongue racing out to lick long, hard lines down Henry’s thighs. He sucks Henry’s balls into his mouth next, suckling while Henry’s stiff cock leans against the side of his face. James can see the muscles in Henry’s hips straining to resist bucking forward, and Henry seems to struggle with himself for what to do next. To James’ pleasure, he doesn’t pull himself away, just uses George’s distraction to settle himself between George’s legs. George tries to kick away, but Henry pulls him up close, the two of them lined up perfectly, chest to chest and head to crotch, both lapping away at one another’s bodies. Henry wastes less time with foreplay-like touches than George; a few quick kisses and he’s descending over the head, mouth back to its wide, open ‘O’.

If there’s one thing Henry’s an expert at, it’s taking cock. He sinks right to the base in one go, and it makes George falter, makes George gasp and whine and canter into Henry’s face once, before straightening out his hips and holding them back with obvious force. He wraps his hands around Henry’s ass and squeezes both of Henry’s cheeks before returning the favour: opening up and swallowing Henry whole.

“That is one of their best positions,” William comments as though noticing the weather, though James knows him well enough to catch the slight hitch of breath. James spares him another look, but his pants are still on, though now heavily tented. James is getting close; he’s been there all morning, though he’s spilled himself in Henry so many times today that it’s no wonder he holds up this long before finishing again. George and Henry are now evenly matched, bobbing enthusiastically up and down and taking each other so far down their throats that it’s a wonder they haven’t choked each other. Just as Henry returns to fingering George, George pulls of Henry’s cock and grabs at Henry’s ass, craning forward to lick his way over to Henry’s hole. Henry moans around his mouthful, and James watches for a few more minutes while George dives his curled tongue in and out of Henry’s stretched, leaking entrance. 

Then it’s just too much, and James stands out of his chair. He only has to take one step before he’s directly over the two constables, and he gives his cock a final tug, pointing it down. His release splatters straight onto their chests, and he slowly draws his cock back and forth, trailing stray spurts from George’s face down to Henry’s. After all the preparation Henry did for this, it’s an impressive load, and James paints them both in dripping sheets of cum that slip and stick between their sweaty bodies. His final dregs land on Henry’s bulging cheek, and Henry immediately screams in response, the sound beautifully muffled around George’s shaft. 

George, still fucking Henry’s twitching hole with his tongue, gets his neck and chest splattered with Henry’s release. Looking instantly giddy, he grabs at Henry’s cock and helps pump out the rest, milking it all over himself. Henry is clearly too lost in the throes of an orgasm to care. 

As soon as he comes down, he pops off George’s cock, leaving George’s expression to flicker back into disappointment for a few seconds. Henry otherwise stays where he is on the floor, covered in cum and sweat and saliva trickling out the corner of his open mouth. He doesn’t seem to have the energy to close it; he’s panting and limp. His cock slowly flags in his lap. He looks up at James apologetically, as though he’s failed them, and James only grins fondly back down: communicating that it’s alright without breaking his air of dominance. 

He knows, of course, that it isn’t fair. Henry’s had the day off work and spent the majority of it playing James’ furniture—a coffee table, a footstool, a heater for his cock—but then, he also knows that Henry would most likely handle the cage better than George. Besides, it wouldn’t feel right to rob George of his victory, not now when he looks so utterly triumphant. 

William tops it off by patting his knees, finally pulling loose his belt, and George rolls right onto all fours and races across the rug. William helps pull George up into his lap by the collar, petting him on the way and mumbling huskily, “Good boy, George.” George looks like he’s won the lottery. 

James, not bothering to tuck himself back in, reaches down to rub Henry’s hair, then pat Henry’s belly. Henry pouts but doesn’t argue. When James loops a finger in his collar, he obediently straightens back to all fours. 

James promptly drags him off to the cage, calling after William, “Bedroom. _Now._ ”


End file.
